


His Name Was Samuel

by Ryuchu



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 07:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20524391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryuchu/pseuds/Ryuchu
Summary: This wasn't like the glorious epics of chivalry Ashe had been reading for years.They weren't faceless waves of enemies to be mowed down.That man - the one leading their enemies - wasn't a nameless general.His name was Lonato and he was Ashe's father.





	His Name Was Samuel

**Author's Note:**

> All the extra dialogue you get when Ashe is in your party during Chapter 3 was just too good to pass up. Sorry Ashe.

His name is Samuel, not Sam.

If you made the mistake of calling him Sam, you earned a lengthy story about how his younger sister Samantha had challenged him to a contest when they were kids to determine who was the _true_ Sam. What exactly the contest was changed with each telling – one time it was arm wrestling, the next an archery contest – but the conclusion remained ever the same. Samantha won and from that day forth, “Sam” was hers and hers alone.

The middle-aged man’s eyes would sparkle, the story gaining new and increasingly ridiculous embellishments with each retelling. He always ended the tale by ruffling Ashe’s hair. Even now Ashe can picture the sundry store, awash in hazy sunlight, dust hanging in the air like a shimmering curtain. In his more fanciful moments, he can even recreate the feel of his hair being carelessly tousled.

“And that’s why it’s Samuel, not Sam. Got that, son?”

Ashe always made sure to fulfill his role in the exchange, giving a dutiful nod of his head and responding with an, “Of course, Samuel”. That earned him a conspiratorial grin and a peppermint before he was sent off back to his parent’s restaurant. Even after they passed away and he was forced to resort to stealing, Samuel never said anything, even though Ashe was fairly certain he had caught him in the act at least once or twice.

He was a kind man. A man who deserved to live out the rest of his days in peace and tranquility. Sure, he had a one-trick story that everyone in town already knew, but that was just part of his charm.

Now he was a corpse.

Not Samuel. Not even Sam. A corpse with an angry sword slash across his chest and an arrow shaft protruding from a ruined eye socket.

Ashe lowered his bow slowly, mechanically, with the stiff movements of someone on the parade grounds. Then he froze. Felix threw a quick glance his direction but didn’t waste any energy on unneeded thanks, quickly darting off into the fog, his sword at the ready. Somewhere in the distance, Ashe heard the voice of the professor shouting out orders, but her words were lost in the muddling fog of his own brain.

He told himself he could handle this. He knew coming to this battlefield would involve confronting Lonato, but he hoped he might be able to talk him down. Now, what he had done instead was kill Sam.

No.

Samuel, not Sam.

“Ashe…”

A voice cut through the fog, soft and gentle. It was Mercedes. He didn’t even have to turn around to know. Suddenly, he started shaking.

“He…I…” Ashe tried to form words – to form thoughts – but nothing seemed to be connecting.

“Let’s take a moment and pray for him. The professor said this area has been cleared of enemies. I’m sure we can spare a few moments.”

Enemies.

That was what they were.

All knights had to have enemies. That was how they claimed their glory. Those were the stories that became legends. Knights in peacetime were much less glamorous, hanging on the arm of whatever ruler they had sworn their allegiance to, waiting for that opportunity to prove themselves. To become a hero, you first had to have someone to defeat.

Sure, his hands had shaken when he was fighting those bandits a month ago, but he understood the importance of not allowing them to escape and why they couldn’t afford to show any mercy. They were enemies and they needed to go down for everyone’s safety. It just made sense.

But this corpse wasn’t the corpse of an enemy. It was Samuel, the owner of the sundry shop three streets over from his parent’s restaurant. It was Samuel, not Sam.

“If…we have time…I think…that would be a good idea,” He eventually responded to Mercedes. Something hot clawed at the back of his throat. His words felt both too fast and too slow.

“Then let’s use the traditional prayer for safe deliverance unto the goddess. You know that one, right?”

Ashe nodded his head, not trusting himself to speak. Mercedes stepped up next to him and quietly clasped her hands in prayer. Out of habit, Ashe mimicked the action, but when the well-worn words evoking the goddess’ guidance began tumbling from Mercedes’ mouth, he didn’t join in. Instead he stared and clasped his hands harder, hoping it would stop the shaking.

He made it about halfway through the relatively short prayer before he started retching.

The hand Mercedes placed on his back was probably supposed to be a comfort, but the fog of the battlefield robed it of any warmth it once had. His body continued to shake, even after his stomach had been emptied.

“Oh Ashe, I’m so sorry…” Mercedes spoke gently at his side, handing him a scented handkerchief. He slowly breathed in the heady smell of lilacs as he wiped at his eyes, hoping to override the taste of bile lingering in his mouth.

“Sorry, I’m okay now,” He lied, righting himself and including a forced smile as he handed Mercedes back her handkerchief, “We need to keep pushing forward.”

Mercedes’ smile was tinged with half a dozen unvoiced concerns, but she dutifully turned away and disappeared into the fog the same direction Felix had run earlier. Ashe told himself to do the same – to press forward without hesitating – but the child overwrote the soldier and he couldn’t help but look back after only a handful of steps.

The corpse was still there, but now the edges had grown fuzzy.

He gripped his bow until he was afraid it would snap in two and quickly followed Mercedes.

Ethan. Colette. Henry. James. Travis.

As they cut through Lonato’s militia, the list of names grew.

He couldn’t help but wonder if he had a name to them. Some of them he had never spoken to, their faces only vaguely familiar in an unplaceable kind of way. But he was the son of the lord of the region. Surely the knew him. The son of the lord that was supposed to stand at their side and protect them. Instead, he had returned from the officer's academy with an arrow nocked and bowstring taut.

By the time they made it to where Lonato stood at the back of his army, Ashe’s heart and muscles ached; his mind and fingers felt numb. Blindly, he groped in his quiver for an arrow, his eyes never leaving the figure of his father astride his horse, spear gripped resolutely in hand.

He always thought Lonato to be a knight straight from the pages of legends. A man gentle enough to take in a thief and his siblings, yet strong enough to guide his people. Although he only spent six years as his son, Ashe liked to believe he knew the man rather well. His laugh that echoed through the halls and always caught Ashe off guard in its abruptness; the unpredictability of his whims. Even now, Ashe could picture their last dinner together before he headed off to the academy. He looked proud.

And above all else was his kindness. Each and every day Ashe was reminded of his kindness.

But here he was, willingly drawing the very people he had sworn to protect into the heart of conflict.

Ethan, Colette, Henry, James, Travis…

Samuel, not Sam.

“Please surrender, Lonato!” He tried his best to hold his bow steady as he took aim, “Whatever your reason for doing this, we can still talk it out!”

Lonato shifted on his horse, his gaze settling on Ashe. Ashe hoped to see a reaction – regret, sadness, even surprise or disappointment would have worked – but his father’s eyes were like steel. It was an expression Ashe had seen only once and sworn to himself never to see again.

“Rhea is an infidel who has deceived the people and desecrated the goddess!” He declared, his face unmoved, “We have virtue and the goddess herself on our side!”

“Even if all that’s true,” Ashe could feel the desperation creeping into his voice, but he couldn’t stop it, “Dragging the townsfolk into it like this isn’t right!”

“Enough. If that is how you feel, prepare yourself! I’m putting an end to this!”

He knew that tone. It was one that brokered no argument. His whims may have been unpredictable, but when he decided on them, he was impossible to shake.

It was time to prove that the pride Lonato had shown in Ashe before sending him off to the officer's academy wasn't misplaced.

His bow string went slack and his arrow shot through the air, a vague blur of deadly motion. Just as quickly, Lonato brought his shield to bear. The only thing Ashe’s decisiveness amounted to was the sharp crash of metal on metal. His hand fumbled in his quiver once more, his feet tripping over themselves to take a few steps backward as he watched Lonato raise his lance.

The lance slammed down into the ground where Ashe had been standing mere moments before. Chunks of dirt and rock flew, nicking Ashe's face and hands. As Lonato retracted his weapon, Ashe nocked another arrow. There was no hesitation this time. Adrenaline was his lifeblood. He had to shoot to kill.

Aim for the chinks between the armor. Cripple them first. Shoulders. Neck. Knees. Joints are vulnerable.

His arrow flew.

There was once again the sharp ring of metal on metal, but this time there was also a distinctive grunt of pain. Ashe’s adrenaline suddenly abandoned him as the heady rush of battle faded. It was as if reality set back in, the earth firm beneath him once more. The enemy became Lonato again. He gripped at the arrow logged in his shoulder. A perfect shot.

Before he could stop himself, Ashe took a step forward.

A rush of movement.

“Stand back! We’ll handle this! You get yourself somewhere safe!”

The movement solidified into Dimitri and the professor. The were looking at him, but their weapons were pointed at Lonato. There wasn’t any room for argument. The fact that they had arrived so quickly meant they had been standing by, allowing him his chance. Instead, he hesitated. Ashe bit the inside of his cheek as he began to make a hasty retreat.

But the child overwrote the soldier. He couldn’t help but look back after just a handful of steps.

Just in time to see the professor deliver the final blow.

Without hesitation, she withdrew her blade. It was only then that Lonato’s blood began to pour. Ashe wished it was still foggy, so he didn’t have to watch as the light faded from his eyes and he exhausted the last of his life with wrenching spasms.

“Lonato, I…”

He wanted to say more – he needed to say more, in case Lonato could still hear – but the goddess was being particularly cruel today. The words and feelings of the past six years were caged in his chest. All he could do was watch as the enemy turned into Lonato and then, with ringing finality, a corpse. No more laughter, no more whims, no more kindness, no more.

Ethan, Colette, Henry, James, Travis…

Samuel, not Sam.

Lonato.

“Why…” His voice returned to him as soon as it no longer did him any good, “Why did this happen? Lonato was always such a kind man… Everyone in the village was…was so nice to me. And I…I killed them. I killed them all! I had to, I know I had to… I know that! But still… What does that make me?”

He started speaking faster, more frenetically, as the thoughts he had managed to hold back during the battle came crashing over him. This was nothing like the stories. There was no chivalry and honor in this. These people had lives, families, _names_. He knew them. They knew him.

They knew who killed them.

“Please, don’t beat yourself up, Ashe. We did what had to be done.”

Ashe looked up with a start. At some point, the professor and Dimitri had come over to him. They were both covered with blood. Especially the professor.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” He tried his best to force calm into his voice, “I shouldn’t be bothering you.”

Dimitri looked as if he was about to say something, but Ashe gave a shake of his head.

“I’m…I’m going to check on the town. I hope my brother and sister are okay.”

Without waiting for either of the commanders’ permission to leave, he turned his back on them and headed for town. A part of him wanted to request Lonato’s body to give him a proper burial, but he knew Lady Rhea, and by extension Catherine, would never allow it. Lonato had pointed his lance towards the heavens. He needed to be used as an example.

Ashe managed to keep it together all the way until he got to the main road leading the the manor.

The lord’s manor stood at the apex of the town, tall and proud, an imposing figure that served as the backdrop for the area. In every memory Ashe had of these streets, they were lively and bustling, vendors hawking their wares and shoppers haggling. But now, dead silence and a chocking sense of apprehension were the only things on offer. Each footfall on the cobbles echoed against the tightly crammed buildings lining the streets, giving him false hope that he wasn’t alone.

And then he passed a familiar sundry store.

He wanted to move, wanted to run. Wanted to, wanted to, wanted to.

But then again, surely Samuel had wanted to live.

This was the town that raised him, the people that had been so kind to him.

The father that allowed a petty thief to chase a dream of being a knight.

And this.

This was how he repaid them.

He started sobbing. His body shook, his head spun, and his brain burned with names and faces. Each sob tore through his chest, unable to express even a fraction of what he was feeling. But he kept crying. He wanted the tears to melt the horrible knot in his throat, but he just found it increasingly difficult to breath.

He wanted to remember.

He wanted to forget.

His name was Samuel, not Sam.


End file.
